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The  Success  of  Defeat 

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The  Messenger 

Richard  Harding  Davia 
The  Consul 
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Looking  Westward 

Robert  Herrick 

The  Master  of  the  Inn 

Frederick  Landia 

The  Angel  of  Lonesome  HOI 

Francis  E.  I^eupp 

A  Day  with  Father 

Alice  Duer  Miller 
Things 

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The  Stranger's  Pew 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

A  Christmas  Sermon 
Prayers  Written  at  Vailim* 
^s  Triplex 

laobet  Strong 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 

Henry  van  Dyke 

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The  Spirit  of  Christmas 

The  Sad  Shepherd 

The  First  Christmas  Tree 


;  i 


THE 
FIRST  CHRISTMAS   TREE 

A  STORY  OF  THE  FOREST 


so  THEY  TOOK  THE  LITTLE  FIR  FROM  ITS  PLACE 


THE    FIRST 
CHRISTMAS   TREE 


BY 
HENRY  VAN  DYKE 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

1915 


Copyright,  1897,  1906,  hy  Charh*  SetHmer't  Sons 


CONTENTS 

PAoa 

/.    Hie  Call  of  the  Woodsman  .     .       1 

//.  The  Trail  Through  the  Forest .  23 
///.  The  Shadow  of  the  Thunder-Oak  87 
IV.    The  Felling  of  the  Tree  ...     65 


THE    CALL   OF   THE 
WOODSMAN 


The  day  before  Christmas,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  722. 
Broad  snow  -  meadows  glistening 
white  along  the  banks  of  the  river 
Moselle;  pallid  hill-sides  blooming 
with  mystic  roses  where  the  glow  of 
the  setting  smi  still  lingered  upon 
them;  an  arch  of  clearest,  faintest 
aziu-e  bending  overhead;  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  aerial  landscape  the  mas- 
sive walls  of  the  cloister  of  Pfalzel, 
gray  to  the  east,  purple  to  the  west; 
silence  over  all, — a  gentle,  eager,  con- 
scious stillness,  diffused  through  the 
air  like  perfume,  as  if  earth  and  sky 
8 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

were  hushing  themselves  to  hear  the 
voice  of  the  river  faintly  murmuring 
down  the  valley. 

In  the  cloister,  too,  there  was  silence 
at  the  sunset  hour.  All  day  long  there 
had  been  a  strange  and  joyful  stir 
among  the  nuns.  A  breeze  of  curios- 
ity and  excitement  had  swept  along 
the  corridors  and  through  every  quiet 
ceU. 

The  elder  sisters, — ^the  provost,  the 
deaconess,  the  stewardess,  the  por- 
tress with  her  huge  bunch  of  keys 
jingling  at  her  girdle,  —  had  been 
hurrying  to  and  fro,  busied  with 
household  cares.  In  the  huge  kitchen 
there  was  a  bustle  of  hospitable 
preparation.  The  little  bandy-legged 
dogs  that  kept  the  spits  turning  be- 
fore the  fires  had  been  trotting  stead- 
ily for  many  an  hour,  until  their 
4 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSIVIAN 

tongues  hung  out  for  want  of  breath. 
The  big  black  pots  swinging  from 
the  cranes  had  bubbled  and  gurgled 
and  shaken  and  sent  out  puffs  of  ap- 
petizing steam. 

St.  Martha  was  in  her  element.  It 
was  a  field-day  for  her  virtues. 

The  younger  sisters,  the  pupils  of 
the  convent,  had  forsaken  their  Latin 
books  and  their  embroidery-frames, 
their  manuscripts  and  their  minia- 
tures, and  fluttered  through  the  halls 
in  little  flocks  like  merry  snow-birds, 
all  in  black  and  white,  chattering  and 
whispering  together.  This  was  no  day 
for  tedious  task-work,  no  day  for 
grammar  or  arithmetic,  no  day  for 
picking  out  illimiinated  letters  in  red 
and  gold  on  stiff  parchment,  or  pa- 
tiently chasing  intricate  patterns  over 
thick  cloth  with  the  slow  needle.  It 
5 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

was  a  holiday.  A  famous  visitor  had 
come  to  the  convent. 

It  was  Winf  ried  of  England,  whose 
name  in  the  Roman  tongue  was  Boni- 
face, and  whom  men  called  the  Apos- 
tle of  Germany.  A  great  preacher;  a 
wonderful  scholar;  he  had  written  a 
Latin  grammar  himself, — ^think  of 
it, — and  he  could  hardly  sleep  with- 
out a  book  under  his  pillow;  but, 
more  than  all,  a  great  and  daring 
traveller,  a  venturesome  pilgrim,  a 
high-priest  of  romance. 

He  had  left  his  home  and  his  fair 
estate  in  Wessex;  he  would  not  stay 
in  the  rich  monastery  of  Nutescelle, 
even  though  they  had  chosen  him  as 
the  abbot ;  he  had  refused  a  bishopric 
at  the  court  of  King  Karl.  Nothing 
would  content  him  but  to  go  out  into 
the  wild  woods  and  preach  to  the 
heathen.  6 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

Up  and  down  through  the  forests 
of  Hesse  and  Thuringia,  and  along 
the  borders  of  Saxony,  he  had  wan- 
dered for  years,  with  a  handful  of 
companions,  sleeping  under  the  trees, 
crossing  mountains  and  marshes,  now 
here,  now  there,  never  satisfied  with 
ease  and  comfort,  always  in  love  with 
hardship  and  danger. 

What  a  man  he  was!  Fair  and 
slight,  but  straight  as  a  spear  and 
strong  as  an  oaken  staff.  His  face 
was  still  young;  the  smooth  skin  was 
bronzed  by  wind  and  sun.  His  gray 
eyes,  clear  and  kind,  flashed  hke  fire 
when  he  spoke  of  his  adventures,  and 
of  the  evil  deeds  of  the  false  priests 
with  whom  he  contended. 

What  tales  he  had  told  that  day! 
Not  of  miracles  wrought  by  sacred 
relics ;  not  of  courts  and  councils  and 
7 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  IREE 

splendid  cathedrals;  though  he  knew 
much  of  these  things,  and  had  been 
at  Rome  and  received  the  Pope's 
blessing.  But  to-day  he  had  spoken 
of  long  journeyings  by  sea  and  land; 
of  perils  by  fire  and  flood;  of  wolves 
and  bears  and  fierce  snowstorms  and 
black  nights  in  the  lonely  forest;  of 
dark  altars  of  heathen  gods,  anji 
weird,  bloody  sacrifices,  and  narrow 
escapes  from  murderous  bands  of 
wandering  savages. 

The  Httle  novices  had  gatherer^ 
around  him,  and  their  faces  had 
grown  pale  and  their  eyes  bright  as 
they  listened  with  parted  lips,  en- 
tranced in  admiration,  twining  their 
arms  about  one  another's  shoulders 
and  holding  closely  together,  half  in 
fear,  half  in  delight.  The  older  nuns 
had  turned  from  their  tasks  and 
8 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

paused,  in  passing  by,  to  hear  the 
pilgrim's  story.  Too  well  they  knew 
the  truth  of  what  he  spoke.  Many  a 
one  among  them  had  seen  the  smoke 
rising  from  the  ruins  of  her  father's 
roof.  Many  a  one  had  a  brother  far 
away  in  the  wild  country  to  whom 
her  heart  went  out  night  and  day, 
wondering  if  he  were  still  among  the 
living. 

But  now  the  excitements  of  that 
wonderful  day  were  over;  the  hour 
of  the  evening  meal  had  come ;  the 
inmates  of  the  cloister  were  assem- 
bled in  the  refectory. 

On  the  dais  sat  the  stately  Abbess 
Addula,  daughter  of  King  Dago- 
bert,  looking  a  princess  indeed,  in 
her  violet  tunic,  with  the  hood  and 
cuffs  of  her  long  white  robe  trimmed 
with  fur,  and  a  snowy  veil  resting 
9 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

like  a  crown  on  her  snowy  hair.  At 
her  right  hand  was  the  honoured 
guest,  and  at  her  left  hand  her  grand- 
son, the  young  Prince  Gregor,  a  hig, 
manly  boy,  just  returned  from  the 
high  school. 

The  long,  shadowy  hall,  with  its 
dark-brown  rafters  and  beams;  the 
double  rows  of  nuns,  with  their  pure 
veils  and  fair  faces;  the  ruddy  glow 
of  the  slanting  sunbeams  striking  up- 
wards through  the  tops  of  the  win- 
dows and  painting  a  pink  glow  high 
up  on  the  walls, — it  was  all  as  beau- 
tiful as  a  picture,  and  as  silent.  For 
this  was  the  rule  of  the  cloister,  that 
at  the  table  all  should  sit  in  stillness 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  one  should 
read  aloud,  while  the  rest  listened. 

"It  is  the  turn  of  my  grandson  to 
read  to-day,"  said  the  abbess  to  Win- 
10 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

fried;  "we  shall  see  how  much  he  has 
learned  in  the  school.  Read,  Gregor; 
the  place  in  the  book  is  marked." 

The  tall  lad  rose  from  his  seat  and 
turned  the  pages  of  the  manuscript. 
It  was  a  copy  of  Jerome's  version 
of  the  Scriptures  in  Latin,  and  the 
marked  place  was  in  the  letter  of  St. 
Paul  to  the  Ephesians, — ^the  passage 
where  he  describes  the  preparation 
of  the  Christian  as  the  arming  of 
a  warrior  for  glorious  battle.  The 
young  voice  rang  out  clearly,  rolling 
the  sonorous  words,  without  slip  or 
stumbling,  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

Winfried  listened  smiling.  "My 
son,"  said  he,  as  the  reader  paused, 
"that  was  bravely  read.  Understand- 
est  thou  what  thou  readest?" 

"Surely,  father,"  answered  the  boy; 
"it  was  taught  me  by  the  masters  at 
11 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

Treves ;  and  we  have  read  this  epistle 
clear  through,  from  beginning  to 
end,  so  that  I  almost  know  it  by- 
heart." 

Then  he  began  again  to  repeat  the 
passage,  turning  away  from  the  page 
as  if  to  show  his  skill. 

But  Winfried  stopped  him  with  a 
friendly  lifting  of  the  hand. 

"Not  so,  my  son;  that  was  not  my 
meaning.  When  we  pray,  we  speak 
to  God ;  when  we  read,  it  is  God  who 
speaks  to  us.  I  ask  whether  thou  hast 
heard  what  He  has  said  to  thee,  in 
thine  own  words,  in  the  common 
speech.  Come,  give  us  again  the  mes- 
sage of  the  warrior  and  his  armour 
and  his  battle,  in  the  mother-tongue, 
so  that  all  can  understand  it." 

The  boy  hesitated,  blushed,  stam- 
mered ;  then  he  came  around  to  Win- 
12 


IHE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

fried's  seat,  bringing  the  book.  "Take 
the  book,  my  father,"  he  cried,  "and 
read  it  for  me.  I  cannot  see  the  mean- 
ing plain,  though  I  love  the  sound 
of  the  words.  Religion  I  know,  and 
the  doctrines  of  our  faith,  and  the 
life  of  priests  and  nuns  in  the  clois- 
ter, for  which  my  grandmother  de- 
signs me,  though  it  likes  me  little. 
And  fighting  I  know,  and  the  life 
of  warriors  and  heroes,  for  I  have 
read  of  it  in  Virgil  and  the  ancients, 
and  heard  a  bit  from  the  soldiers  at 
Treves;  and  I  would  fain  taste  more 
of  it,  for  it  likes  me  much.  But  how 
the  two  lives  fit  together,  or  what 
need  there  is  of  armour  for  a  clerk 
in  holy  orders,  I  can  never  see.  Tell 
me  the  meaning,  for  if  there  is  a  man 
in  all  the  world  that  knows  it,  I  am 
sure  it  is  none  other  than  thou." 

13 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

So  Winfried  took  the  book  and 
closed  it,  clasping  the  boy's  hand 
with  his  own. 

"Let  us  first  dismiss  the  others  to 
their   vespers,"    said   he,    "lest   they    . 
should  be  weary." 

A  sign  from  the  abbess;  a  chanted 
benediction;  a  murmuring  of  sweet 
voices  and  a  soft  rustling  of  many 
feet  over  the  rushes  on  the  floor; 
the  gentle  tide  of  noise  flowed  out 
through  the  doors  and  ebbed  away 
down  the  corridors;  the  three  at  the 
head  of  the  table  were  left  alone  in 
the  darkening  room. 

Then  Winfried  began  to  translate 
the  parable  of  the  soldier  into  the 
realities  of  life. 

At  every  turn  he  knew  how  to  flash 
a  new  light  into  the  picture  out  of 
his  own  experience.  He  spoke  of  the 

14 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

combat  with  self,  and  of  the  wrest- 
ling with  dark  spirits  in  solitude.  He 
spoke  of  the  demons  that  men  had 
worshipped  for  centuries  in  the  wil- 
derness, and  whose  malice  they  in- 
voked against  the  stranger  who  ven- 
tured into  the  gloomy  forest.  Gods, 
they  called  them,  and  told  strange 
tales  of  their  dwelling  among  the 
impenetrable  branches  of  the  oldest 
trees  and  in  the  caverns  of  the  shag- 
gy hills ;  of  their  riding  on  the  wind- 
horses  and  hurling  spears  of  light- 
ning against  their  foes.  Gods  they 
were  not,  but  foul  spirits  of  the  afr, 
rulers  of  the  darkness.  Was  there  not 
glory  and  honour  in  fighting  with 
them,  in  daring  their  anger  under 
the  shield  of  faith,  in  putting  them 
to  flight  with  the  sword  of  truth? 
What  better  adventure  could  a  brave 
15 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

man  ask  than  to  go  forth  against 
them,  and  wrestle  with  them,  and 
conquer  them? 

"Look  you,  my  friends,"  said  Win- 
fried,  "how  sweet  and  peaceful  is 
this  convent  to-night,  on  the  eve  of 
the  nativity  of  the  Prince  of  Peace! 
It  is  a  garden  full  of  flowers  in  the 
heart  of  winter;  a  nest  among  the 
branches  of  a  great  tree  shaken  by 
the  winds;  a  still  haven  on  the  edge 
of  a  tempestuous  sea.  And  this  is 
what  religion  means  for  those  who 
are  chosen  and  called  to  quietude  and 
prayer  and  meditation. 

"But  out  yonder  in  the  wide  forest, 
who  knows  what  storms  are  raving 
to-night  in  the  hearts  of  men,  though 
all  the  woods  are  still?  who  knows 
what  haunts  of  wrath  and  cruelty 
and  fear  are  closed  to-night  against 
16 


THE   CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

the  advent  of  the  Prince  of  Peace? 
And  shall  I  tell  you  what  religion 
means  to  those  who  are  called  and 
chosen  to  dare  and  to  fight,  and  to 
conquer  the  world  for  Christ?  It 
means  to  launch  out  into  the  deep. 
It  means  to  go  against  the  strong- 
holds of  the  adversary.  It  means  to 
struggle  to  win  an  entrance  for  their 
Master  everywhere.  What  helmet  is 
strong  enough  for  this  strife  save  the 
helmet  of  salvation?  What  breast- 
plate can  guard  a  man  against  these 
fiery  darts  but  the  breastplate  of 
righteousness?  What  shoes  can  stand 
the  wear  of  these  journeys  but  the 
preparation  of  the  gospel  of  peace?" 
"Shoes?"  he  cried  again,  and 
laughed  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
struck  him.  He  thrust  out  his  foot, 
covered  with  a  heavy  cowhide  boot, 

17 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTIVIAS  TREE 

laced  high  about  his  leg  with  thongs 
of  skin. 

"See  here, — ^how  a  fighting  man  of 
the  cross  is  shod!  I  have  seen  the 
boots  of  the  Bishop  of  Tours, — white 
kid,  broidered  with  silk ;  a  day  in  the 
bogs  would  tear  them  to  shreds.  I 
have  seen  the  sandals  that  the  monks 
use  on  the  highroads, — yes,  and  worn 
them;  ten  pair  of  them  have  I  worn 
out  and  thrown  away  in  a  single 
journey.  Now  I  shoe  my  feet  with 
the  toughest  hides,  hard  as  iron;  no 
rock  can  cut  them,  no  branches  can 
tear  them.  Yet  more  than  one  pair 
of  these  have  I  outworn,  and  many 
more  shaU  I  outwear  ere  my  jour- 
neys are  ended.  And  I  think,  if  God 
is  gracious  to  me,  that  I  shall  die 
wearing  them.  Better  so  than  in  a 
soft  bed  with  silken  coverings.  The 

18 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

boots  of  a  warrior,  a  hunter,  a  woods- 
man,— these  are  my  preparation  of 
the  gospel  of  peace." 

"Come,  Gregor,"  he  said,  laying  his 
brown  hand  on  the  youth's  shoulder, 
"come,  wear  the  forester's  boots  with 
me.  This  is  the  life  to  which  we  are 
called.  Be  strong  in  the  Lord,  a 
hunter  of  the  demons,  a  subduer  of 
the  wilderness,  a  woodsman  of  the 
faith.  Come!" 

The  boy's  eyes  sparkled.  He  turned 
to  his  grandmother.  She  shook  her 
head  vigorously. 

"Nay,  father,"  she  said,  "draw  not 
the  lad  away  from  my  side  with  these 
wild  words.  I  need  him  to  help  me 
with  my  labours,  to  cheer  my  old 
age. 

"Do  you  need  him  more  than  the 
Master  does?"  asked  Winfried;  "and 

19 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

will  you  take  the  wood  that  is  fit  for 
a  bow  to  make  a  distaff?" 

"But  I  fear  for  the  child.  Thy  life 
is  too  hard  for  him.  He  will  perish 
with  hunger  in  the  woods." 

"Once,"  said  Winfried,  smiHng,  "we 

were  camped  by  the  bank  of  the  river 

Ohru.  The  table  was  spread  for  the 

morning  meal,  but  my  comrades  cried 

that   it  was   empty;   the   provisions 

were  exhausted;  we  must  go  without 

breakfast,  and  perhaps  starve  before 

we  could  escape  from  the  wilderness. 

While  they  complained,  a  fish-hawk 

flew  up  from  the  river  with  flapping 

wings,  and  let  fall  a  great  pike  in 

the  midst  of  the  camp.  There  was 

food  enough   and  to   spare.   Never 

have  I  seen  the  righteous  forsaken, 

nor  his  seed  begging  bread." 

"But  the  fierce  pagans  of  the  for- 
20 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  WOODSMAN 

est,"  cried  the  abbess, — "they  may 
pierce  the  boy  with  their  arrows,  or 
dash  out  his  brains  with  their  axes. 
He  is  but  a  child,  too  young  for  the 
dangers  of  strife." 

"A  child  in  years,"  replied  Win- 
fried,  "but  a  man  in  spirit.  And  if 
the  hero  must  fall  early  in  the  battle, 
he  wears  the  brighter  crown,  not  a 
leaf  withered,  not  a  flower  fallen." 

The  aged  princess  trembled  a  little. 
She  drew  Gregor  close  to  her  side, 
and  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  brown 
hair. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  he  wants  to 
leave  me  yet.  Besides,  there  is  no 
horse  in  the  stable  to  give  him,  now, 
and  he  cannot  go  as  befits  the  grand- 
son of  a  king." 

Gregor  looked  straight  into  her 
eyes. 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

"Grandmother,"  said  he,  "dear 
grandmother,  if  thou  wilt  not  give 
me  a  horse  to  ride  with  this  man  of 
God,  I  will  go  with  him  afoot." 


n 


IT 

THE   TRAIL  THROUGH 
THE   FOREST 


II 

Two  years  had  passed,  to  a  day, 
almost  to  an  hour,  since  that  Christ- 
mas eve  in  the  cloister  of  Pfalzel.  A 
little  company  of  pilgrims,  less  than 
a  score  of  men,  were  creeping  slowly 
northward  through  the  wide  forest 
that  rolled  over  the  hills  of  central 
Germany. 

At  the  head  of  the  band  marched 
Winf ried,  clad  in  a  tunic  of  fur,  with 
his  long  black  robe  girt  high  about 
his  waist,  so  that  it  might  not  hinder 
his  stride.  His  hunter's  boots  were 
crusted  with  snow.  Drops  of  ice  spar- 
kled like  jewels  along  the  thongs 
that  bound  his  legs.  There  was  no 

25 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

other  ornament  to  his  dress  except 
the  bishop's  cross  hanging  on  his 
breast,  and  the  broad  silver  clasp  that 
fastened  his  cloak  about  his  neck.  He 
carried  a  strong,  tall  staff  in  his  hand, 
fashioned  at  the  top  into  the  form  of 
a  cross. 

Close  beside  him,  keeping  step 
like  a  familiar  comrade,  was  the 
young  Prince  Gregor.  Long  marches 
through  the  wilderness  had  stretched 
his  limbs  and  broadened  his  back,  and 
made  a  man  of  him  in  stature  as  well 
as  in  spirit.  His  jacket  and  cap  were 
of  wolf -skin,  and  on  his  shoulder  he 
carried  an  axe,  with  broad,  shining 
blade.  He  was  a  mighty  woodsman 
now,  and  could  make  a  spray  of  chips 
fly  around  him  as  he  hewed  his  way 
through  the  trunk  of  spruce-tree. 

Behind  these  leaders  followed  a  pair 

26 


THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  FOREST 

of  teamsters,  guiding  a  rude  sledge, 
loaded  with  food  and  the  equipage 
of  the  camp,  and  drawn  by  two  big, 
shaggy  horses,  blowing  thick  clouds 
of  steam  from  their  frosty  nostrils. 
Tiny  icicles  hung  from  the  hairs  on 
their  lips.  Their  flanks  were  smok- 
ing. They  sank  above  the  fetlocks  at 
every  step  in  the  soft  snow. 

Last  of  all  came  the  rear  guard, 
armed  with  bows  and  javelins.  It 
was  no  child's  play,  in  those  days,  to 
cross  Europe  afoot. 

The  weird  woodland,  sombre  and 
illimitable,  covered  hill  and  vale, 
tableland  and  mountain-peak.  There 
were  wide  moors  where  the  wolves 
hunted  in  packs  as  if  the  devil  drove 
them,  and  tangled  thickets  where  the 
lynx  and  the  boar  made  their  lairs. 
Fierce  bears  lurked  among  the  rocky 

27 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

passes,  and  had  not  yet  learned  to 
fear  the  face  of  man.  The  gloomy 
recesses  of  the  forest  gave  shelter  to 
inhabitants  who  were  still  more  cruel 
and  dangerous  than  beasts  of  prey, 
— outlaws  and  sturdy  robbers  and 
mad  were-wolves  and  bands  of  wan- 
dering pillagers. 

The  pilgrim  who  would  pass  from 
the  mouth  of  the  Tiber  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Rhine  must  travel  with  a  ht- 
tle  army  of  retainers,  or  else  trust  in 
God  and  keep  his  arrows  loose  in  the 
quiver. 

The  travellers  were  surrounded  by 
an  ocean  of  trees,  so  vast,  so  full  of 
endless  billows,  that  it  seemed  to  be 
pressing  on  every  side  to  overwhelm 
them.  Gnarled  oaks,  with  branches 
twisted  and  knotted  as  if  in  rage,  rose 
in  groves  like  tidal  waves.   Smooth 

28 


THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  FOREST 

forests  of  beech  -  trees,  round  and 
gray,  swept  over  the  knolls  and  slopes 
of  land  in  a  mighty  ground-swell. 
But  most  of  all,  the  multitude  of 
pines  and  firs,  innumerable  and  mo- 
notonous, with  straight,  stark  trunks, 
and  branches  woven  together  in  an 
unbroken  flood  of  darkest  green, 
crowded  through  the  valleys  and  over 
the  hills,  rising  on  the  highest  ridges 
into  ragged  crests,  like  the  foaming 
edge  of  breakers. 

Through  this  sea  of  shadows  ran  a 
narrow  stream  of  shining  whiteness, 
— an  ancient  Roman  road,  covered 
with  snow.  It  was  as  if  some  great 
ship  had  ploughed  through  the  green 
ocean  long  ago,  and  left  behind  it  a 
thick,  smooth  wake  of  foam.  Along 
this  open  track  the  travellers  held 
their  way,  —  heavily,  for  the  drifts 
29 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

were  deep;  warily,  for  the  hard  win- 
ter had  driven  many  packs  of  wolves 
down  from  the  moors. 

The  steps  of  the  pilgrims  were 
noiseless;  but  the  sledges  creaked 
over  the  dry  snow,  and  the  panting 
of  the  horses  throbbed  through  the 
still,  cold  air.  The  pale-blue  shadows 
on  the  western  side  of  the  road  grew 
longer.  The  sun,  declining  through 
its  shallow  arch,  dropped  behind  the 
tree-tops.  Darkness  followed  swiftly, 
as  if  it  had  been  a  bird  of  prey  wait- 
ing for  this  sign  to  swoop  down  upon 
the  world. 

"Father,"  said  Gregor  to  the  leader, 
"surely  this  day's  march  is  done.  It 
is  time  to  rest,  and  eat,  and  sleep.  If 
we  press  onward  now,  we  cannot  see 
our  steps ;  and  will  not  that  be  against 
the  word  of  the  psalmist  David,  who 
SO 


THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  FOREST 

bids  us  not  to  put  confidence  in  the 
legs  of  a  man?" 

Winfried  laughed.  "Nay,  my  son 
Gregor,"  said  he,  "thou  hast  tripped, 
even  now,  upon  thy  text.  For  David 
said  only,  'I  take  no  pleasure  in  the 
legs  of  a  man.'  And  so  say  I,  for  I 
am  not  minded  to  spare  thy  legs  or 
mine,  until  we  come  farther  on  our 
way,  and  do  what  must  be  done  this 
night.  Draw  the  belt  tighter,  my  son, 
and  hew  me  out  this  tree  that  is  fallen 
across  the  road,  for  our  camp-ground 
is  not  here." 

The  youth  obeyed;  two  of  the  for- 
esters sprang  to  help  him;  and  while 
the  soft  fir  -  wood  yielded  to  the 
stroke  of  the  axes,  and  the  snow  flew 
from  the  bending  branches,  Winfried 
turned  and  spoke  to  his  followers  in 
a  cheerful  voice,  that  refreshed  them 
like  wine.  31 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

"Courage,  brothers,  and  forward 
yet  a  little!  The  moon  will  light  us 
presently,  and  the  path  is  plain.  Well 
know  I  that  the  journey  is  weary; 
and  my  own  heart  wearies  also  for 
the  home  in  England,  where  those  I 
love  are  keeping  feast  this  Christmas 
eve.  But  we  have  work  to  do  before 
we  feast  to-night.  For  this  is  the 
Yuletide,  and  the  heathen  people  of 
the  forest  have  gathered  at  the  thun- 
der-oak of  Geismar  to  worship  their 
god,  Thor.  Strange  things  will  be 
seen  there,  and  deeds  which  make  the 
soul  black.  But  we  are  sent  to  lighten 
their  darkness;  and  we  will  teach  our 
kinsmen  to  keep  a  Christmas  with 
us  such  as  the  woodland  has  never 
known.  Forward,  then,  and  let  us 
stiffen  up  our  feeble  knees!" 

A  murmur  of  assent  came   from 

S2 


THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE  FOREST 

the  men.  Even  the  horses  seemed  to 
take  fresh  heart.  They  flattened  their 
backs  to  draw  the  heavy  loads,  and 
blew  the  frost  from  their  nostrils  as 
they  pushed  ahead. 

The  night  grew  broader  and  less 
oppressive.  A  gate  of  brightness  was 
opened  secretly  somewhere  in  the 
sky;  higher  and  higher  swelled  the 
clear  moon-flood,  until  it  poured  over 
the  eastern  wall  of  forest  into  the 
road.  A  drove  of  wolves  howled 
faintly  in  the  distance,  but  they  were 
receding,  and  the  sound  soon  died 
away.  The  stars  sparkled  merrily 
through  the  stringent  air;  the  small, 
round  moon  shone  like  silver;  little 
breaths  of  the  dreaming  wind  wan- 
dered whispering  across  the  pointed 
fir-tops,  as  the  pilgrims  toiled  brave- 
ly onward,  following  their  clue  of 
33 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

light  through  a  labyrinth  of  dark- 
ness. 

After  a  while  the  road  began  to 
open  out  a  little.  There  were  spaces 
of  meadow-land,  fringed  with  alders, 
behind  which  a  boisterous  river  ran, 
clashing  through  spears  of  ice. 

Rude  houses  of  hewn  logs  appeared 
in  the  openings,  each  one  casting  a 
patch  of  inky  blackness  upon  the 
snow.  Then  the  travellers  passed  a 
larger  group  of  dwellings,  all  silent 
and  unlighted ;  and  beyond,  they  saw 
a  great  house,  with  many  outbuild- 
ings and  enclosed  courtyards,  from 
which  the  hounds  bayed  furiously, 
and  a  noise  of  stamping  horses  came 
from  the  stalls.  But  there  was  no 
other  sound  of  life.  The  fields  around 
lay  bare  to  the  moon.  They  saw  no 
man,  except  that  once,  on  a  path  that 

34 


THE  TRAIL  THROUGH  THE   FOREST 

skirted  the  farther  edge  of  a  meadow, 
three  dark  figures  passed  by,  running 
very  swiftly. 

Then  the  road  plunged  again  into 
a  dense  thicket,  traversed  it,  and 
climbing  to  the  left,  emerged  sud- 
denly upon  a  glade,  round  and  level 
except  at  the  northern  side,  where  a 
swelling  hillock  was  crowned  with  a 
huge  oak-tree.  It  towered  above  the 
heath,  a  giant  with  contorted  arms, 
beckoning  to  the  host  of  lesser  trees. 
"Here,"  cried  Winfried,  as  his  eyes 
flashed  and  his  hand  lifted  his  heavy 
staff,  "here  is  the  thunder-oak;  and 
here  the  cross  of  Christ  shall  break 
the  hammer  of  the  false  god  Thor." 


8ff 


Ill 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE 
THUNDER-OAK 


Ill 

Withered  leaves  still  clung  to  the 
branches  of  the  oak:  torn  and  faded 
banners  of  the  departed  summer.  The 
bright  crimson  of  autimm  had  long 
since  disappeared,  bleached  away  by 
the  storms  and  the  cold.  But  to- 
night these  tattered  remnants  of 
glory  were  red  again:  ancient  blood- 
stains against  the  dark-blue  sky.  For 
an  immense  fire  had  been  kindled  in 
front  of  the  tree.  Tongues  of  ruddy 
flame,  fountains  of  ruby  sparks, 
ascended  through  the  spreading 
limbs  and  flung  a  fierce  illumination 
upward  and  around.  The  pale,  pure 
moonhght  that  bathed  the  surround- 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

ing  forests  was  quenched  and  eclipsed 
here.  Not  a  beam  of  it  sifted  down- 
ward through  the  branches  of  the 
oak.  It  stood  hke  a  pillar  of  cloud 
between  the  still  light  of  heaven  and 
the  crackling,  flashing  fire  of  earth. 

But  the  fire  itself  was  invisible  to 
Winfried  and  his  companions.  A 
great  throng  of  people  were  gath- 
ered around  it  in  a  half -circle,  their 
backs  to  the  open  glade,  their  faces 
towards  the  oak.  Seen  against  that 
glowing  background,  it  was  but  the 
silhouette  of  a  crowd,  vague,  black, 
formless,  mysterious. 

The  travellers  paused  for  a  moment 
at  the  edge  of  the  thicket,  and  took 
counsel  together. 

"It  is  the  assembly  of  the  tribe," 
said  one  of  the  foresters,  "the  great 
night  of  the  council.  I  heard  of  it 
40 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

three  days  ago,  as  we  passed  through 
one  of  the  villages.  All  who  swear  by 
the  old  gods  have  been  summoned. 
They  will  sacrifice  a  steed  to  the  god 
of  war,  and  drink  blood,  and  eat 
horse-flesh  to  make  them  strong.  It 
will  be  at  the  peril  of  our  lives  if  we 
approach  them.  At  least  we  must 
hide  the  cross,  if  we  would  escape 
death." 

"Hide  me  no  cross,"  cried  Win- 
fried,  lifting  his  staff,  "for  I  have 
come  to  show  it,  and  to  make  these 
blind  folk  see  its  power.  There  is 
more  to  be  done  here  to-night  than 
the  slaying  of  a  steed,  and  a  greater 
evil  to  be  stayed  than  the  shameful 
eating  of  meat  sacrificed  to  idols.  I 
have  seen  it  in  a  dream.  Here  the 
cross  must  stand  and  be  our  rede." 

At  his  command  the  sledge  was  left 

41 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

in  the  border  of  the  wood,  with  two 
of  the  men  to  guard  it,  and  the  rest 
of  the  company  moved  forward 
across  the  open  gromid.  They  ap- 
proached imnoticed,  for  all  the  mul- 
titude were  looking  intently  towards 
the  fire  at  the  foot  of  the  oak. 

Then  Winfried's  voice  rang  out, 
"Hail,  ye  sons  of  the  forest!  A 
stranger  claims  the  warmth  of  your 
fire  in  the  winter  night." 

Swiftly,  and  as  with  a  single  mo- 
tion, a  thousand  eyes  were  bent  upon 
the  speaker.  The  semicircle  opened 
silently  in  the  middle;  Winfried  en- 
tered with  his  followers;  it  closed 
again  behind  them. 

Then,    as   they   looked    round    the 

curving  ranks,  they  saw  that  the  hue 

of  the  assemblage  was  not  black,  but 

white,  —  dazzling,    radiant,    solemn. 

42 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

White,  the  robes  of  the  women  clus- 
tered together  at  the  points  of  the 
wide  crescent;  white,  the  gUttering 
byrnies  of  the  warriors  standing  in 
close  ranks;  white,  the  fur  mantles 
of  the  aged  men  who  held  the  central 
place  in  the  circle;  white,  with  the 
shimmer  of  silver  ornaments  and  the 
purity  of  lamb's-wool,  the  raiment  of 
a  little  group  of  children  who  stood 
close  by  the  fire ;  white,  with  awe  and 
fear,  the  faces  of  aU  who  looked  at 
them;  and  over  all  the  flickering, 
dancing  radiance  of  the  flames 
played  and  ghmmered  Hke  a  faint, 
vanishing  tinge  of  blood  on  snow. 

The  only  figure  untouched  by  the 
glow  was  the  old  priest,  Hunrad, 
with  his  long,  spectral  robe,  flowing 
hair  and  beard,  and  dead-pale  face, 
who  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire 
43 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

and   advanced    slowly   to   meet   the 
strangers. 

"Who  are  you?  Whence  come  you, 
and  what  seek  you  here?"  His  voice 
was  heavy  and  toneless  as  a  muffled 
bell. 

"Your  kinsman  am  I,  of  the  Ger- 
man brotherhood,"  answered  Win- 
fried,  "and  from  England,  beyond 
the  sea,  have  I  come  to  bring  you  a 
greeting  from  that  land,  and  a  mes- 
sage from  the  All-Father,  whose  ser- 
vant I  am." 

"Welcome,  then,"  said  Hunrad, 
"welcome,  kinsman,  and  be  silent; 
for  what  passes  here  is  too  high  to 
wait,  and  must  be  done  before  the 
moon  crosses  the  middle  heaven,  un- 
less, indeed,  thou  hast  some  sign  or 
token  from  the  gods.  Canst  thou 
work  miracles?" 

44 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

The  question  came  sharply,  as  if  a 
sudden  gleam  of  hope  had  flashed 
through  the  tangle  of  the  old  priest's 
mind.  But  Winf  ried's  voice  sank  low- 
er and  a  cloud  of  disappointment 
passed  over  his  face  as  he  repHed: 
"Nay,  miracles  have  I  never  wrought, 
though  I  have  heard  of  many;  but 
the  All-Father  has  given  no  power  to 
my  hands  save  such  as  belongs  to 
common  man." 

"Stand  still,  then,  thou  common 
man,"  said  Hunrad,  scornfully,  "and 
behold  what  the  gods  have  called  us 
hither  to  do.  This  night  is  the  death- 
night  of  the  sim-god,  Baldur  the 
Beautiful,  beloved  of  gods  and  men. 
This  night  is  the  hour  of  darkness 
and  the  power  of  winter,  of  sacrifice 
and  mighty  fear.  This  night  the  great 
Thor,  the  god  of  thunder  and  war, 

45 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

to  whom  this  oak  is  sacred,  is  grieved 
for  the  death  of  Baldur,  and  angry 
with  this  people  because  they  have 
forsaken  his  worship.  Long  is  it  since 
an  offering  has  been  laid  upon  his 
altar,  long  since  the  roots  of  his  holy 
tree  have  been  fed  with  blood.  There- 
fore its  leaves  have  withered  before 
the  time,  and  its  boughs  are  heavy 
with  death.  Therefore  the  Slavs  and 
the  Wends  have  beaten  us  in  battle. 
Therefore  the  harvests  have  failed, 
and  the  wolf -hordes  have  ravaged  the 
folds,  and  the  strength  has  departed 
from  the  bow,  and  the  wood  of  the 
spear  has  broken,  and  the  wild  boar 
has  slain  the  huntsman.  Therefore  the 
plague  has  fallen  on  our  dwelhngs, 
and  the  dead  are  more  than  the  liv- 
ing in  all  our  villages.  Answer  me,  ye 
people,  are  not  these  things  true?" 

46 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

A  hoarse  sound  of  approval  ran 
through  the  circle.  A  chant,  in  which 
the  voices  of  the  men  and  women 
blended,  like  the  shrill  wind  in  the 
pine-trees  above  the  rumbling  thun- 
der of  a  waterfall,  rose  and  fell  in 
rude  cadences. 

O  Thor,  the  Thunderer, 
Mighty  and  merciless. 
Spare  us  from  smiting  ! 
Heave  not  thy  hammer. 
Angry,  against  us ; 
Plague  not  thy  people. 
Take  from  our  treasure 
Richest  of  ransom. 
Silver  we  send  thee. 
Jewels  and  javelins. 
Goodliest  garments. 
All  our  possessions. 
Priceless,  we  proffer. 
Sheep  will  we  slaughter. 
Steeds  will  we  sacrifice ; 
Bright  blood  shall  bathe  thee, 
O  tree  of  Thunder, 
47 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

Life-floods  shall  lave  thee, 
Strong  wood  of  wonder. 
Mighty,  have  mercy, 
Smite  us  no  more, 
Spare  us  and  save  us, 
Spare  us,  Thor!     Thor! 

With  two  great  shouts  the  song 
ended,  and  a  stillness  followed  so  in- 
tense that  the  crackling  of  the  fire 
was  heard  distinctly.  The  old  priest 
stood  silent  for  a  moment.  His  shag- 
gy brows  swept  down  over  his  eyes 
like  ashes  quenching  flame.  Then  he 
lifted  his  face  and  spoke. 

"None  of  these  things  will  please 
the  god.  More  costly  is  the  offering 
that  shall  cleanse  your  sin,  more  pre- 
cious the  crimson  dew  that  shall  send 
new  life  into  this  holy  tree  of  blood. 
Thor  claims  your  dearest  and  your 
noblest  gift." 

Hunrad  moved  nearer  to  the  hand- 

48 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

fill  of  children  who  stood  watching 
the  red  mines  in  the  fire  and  the 
swarms  of  spark  -  serpents  darting 
upward.  They  had  heeded  none  of 
the  priest's  words,  and  did  not  notice 
now  that  he  approached  them,  so 
eager  were  they  to  see  which  fiery 
snake  would  go  highest  among  the 
oak  branches.  Foremost  among  them, 
and  most  intent  on  the  pretty  game, 
was  a  boy  like  a  sunbeam,  slender 
and  quick,  with  bhthe  brown  eyes 
and  laughing  lips.  The  priest's  hand 
was  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  The  boy 
turned  and  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"Here,"  said  the  old  man,  with  his 
voice  vibrating  as  when  a  thick  rope 
is  strained  by  a  ship  swinging  from 
her  moorings,  "here  is  the  chosen 
one,  the  eldest  son  of  the  Chief,  the 
darling    of    the    people.    Hearken, 

49 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

Bernhard,  wilt  thou  go  to  Valhalla, 
where  the  heroes  dwell  with  the  gods, 
to  bear  a  message  to  Thor?" 
The  boy  answered,  swift  and  clear: 
"Yes,  priest,  I  will  go  if  my  father 
bids  me.  Is  it  far  away?  Shall  I  rmi 
quickly?  Must  I  take  my  bow  and 
arrows  for  the  wolves?" 

The  boy's  father,  the  Chieftain 
Gundhar,  standing  among  his  beard- 
ed warriors,  drew  his  breath  deep,  and 
leaned  so  heavily  on  the  handle  of 
his  spear  that  the  wood  cracked. 
And  his  wife,  Irma,  bending  for- 
ward from  the  ranks  of  women, 
pushed  the  golden  hair  from  her 
forehead  with  one  hand.  The  other 
dragged  at  the  silver  chain  about  her 
neck  until  the  rough  links  pierced 
her  flesh,  and  the  red  drops  fell  un- 
heeded on  the  snow  of  her  breast. 

50 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

A  sigh  passed  through  the  crowd, 
hke  the  murmur  of  the  forest  before 
the  storm  breaks.  Yet  no  one  spoke 
save  Hunrad: 

"Yes,  my  Prince,  both  bow  and 
spear  shalt  thou  have,  for  the  way  is 
long,  and  thou  art  a  brave  hunts- 
man. But  in  darkness  thou  must 
journey  for  a  httle  space,  and  with 
eyes  bhndfolded.  Fearest  thou?" 

"Naught  fear  I,"  said  the  boy, 
"neither  darkness,  nor  the  great  bear, 
nor  the  were-wolf .  For  I  am  Gund- 
har's  son,  and  the  defender  of  my 
folk." 

Then  the  priest  led  the  child  in  his 
raiment  of  lamb's-wool  to  a  broad 
stone  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  gave 
him  his  little  bow  tipped  with  silver, 
and  his  spear  with  shining  head  of 
steel.  He  bound  the  child's  eyes  with 

51 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

a  white  cloth,  and  bade  him  kneel 
beside  the  stone  with  his  face  to  the 
east.  Unconsciously  the  wide  arc  of 
spectators  drew  inward  toward  the 
centre,  as  the  ends  of  the  bow  draw 
together  when  the  cord  is  stretched. 
Winfried  moved  noiselessly  until  he 
stood  close  behind  the  priest. 

The  old  man  stooped  to  lift  a  black 
hammer  of  stone  from  the  ground, — 
the  sacred  hammer  of  the  god  Thor. 
Summoning  all  the  strength  of  his 
withered  arms,  he  swung  it  high  in 
the  air.  It  poised  for  an  instant  above 
the  child's  fair  head — ^then  turned  to 
fall. 

One  keen  cry  shrilled  out  from 
where  the  women  stood:  "Me!  take 
me!  not  Bernhard!" 

The  flight  of  the  mother  towards 
her  child  was  swift  as  the  falcon's 
£2 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  THUNDER-OAK 

swoop.  But  swifter  still  was  the  hand 
of  the  deliverer. 

Winf  ried's  heavy  staiF  thrust  might- 
ily against  the  hammer's  handle  as  it 
fell.  Sideways  it  glanced  from  the 
old  man's  grasp,  and  the  black  stone, 
striking  on  the  altar's  edge,  split  in 
twain.  A  shout  of  awe  and  joy  rolled 
along  the  living  circle.  The  branches 
of  the  oak  shivered.  The  flames 
leaped  higher.  As  the  shout  died 
away  the  people  saw  the  lady  Irma, 
with  her  arms  clasped  round  her 
child,  and  above  them,  on  the  altar- 
stone,  Winfried,  his  face  shining  like 
the  face  of  an  angel. 


58 


IV 

THE  FELLING  OF   THE 
TREE 


IV 

A  SWIFT  mountain  -  flood  rolling 
down  its  channel;  a  huge  rock  tum- 
bling from  the  hill-side  and  falling 
in  mid  -  stream ;  the  baffled  waters 
broken  and  confused,  pausing  in 
their  flow,  dash  high  against  the  rock, 
foaming  and  murmuring,  with  di- 
vided impulse,  uncertain  whether  to 
turn  to  the  right  or  the  left. 

Even  so  Winfried's  bold  deed  fell 
into  the  midst  of  the  thoughts  and 
passions  of  the  council.  They  were 
at  a  standstill.  Anger  and  wonder, 
reverence  and  joy  and  confusion 
surged  through  the  crowd.  They 
knew  not  which  way  to  move:  to  re- 
57 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

sent  the  intrusion  of  the  stranger  as 
an  insult  to  their  gods,  or  to  welcome 
him  as  the  rescuer  of  their  darling 
prince. 

The  old  priest  crouched  by  the  altar, 
silent.  Conflicting  counsels  troubled 
the  air.  Let  the  sacrifice  go  forward; 
the  gods  must  be  appeased.  Nay,  the 
boy  must  not  die;  bring  the  chief- 
tain's best  horse  and  slay  it  in  his 
stead;  it  will  be  enough;  the  holy 
tree  loves  the  blood  of  horses.  Not 
so,  there  is  a  better  counsel  yet;  seize 
the  stranger  whom  the  gods  have  led 
hither  as  a  victim  and  make  his  life 
pay  the  forfeit  of  his  daring. 

The  withered  leaves  on  the  oak 
rustled  and  whispered  overhead.  The 
fire  flared  and  sank  again.  The  an- 
gry voices  clashed  against  each  other 
and  fell  like  opposing  waves.  Then 

58 


THE  I-ELLING  OF  THE  TREE 

the  chieftain  Gundhar  struck  the 
earth  with  his  spear  and  gave  his 
decision. 

"All  have  spoken,  but  none  are 
agreed.  There  is  no  voice  of  the  coun- 
cil. Keep  silence  now,  and  let  the 
stranger  speak.  His  words  shall  give 
us  judgment,  whether  he  is  to  live  or 
to  die." 

Winfried  lifted  himself  high  upon 
the  altar,  drew  a  roll  of  parchment 
from  his  bosom,  and  began  to 
read. 

*'A  letter  from  the  great  Bishop  of 
Rome,  who  sits  on  a  golden  throne, 
to  the  people  of  the  forest,  Hessians 
and  Thuringians,  Franks  and  Sax- 
ons. In  nomine  Domini,  sanctae  et 
individuae  trinitatis,  amenr 

A  murmur  of  awe  ran  through  the 
crowd.  "It  is  the  sacred  tongue  of 
59 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

the  Romans :  the  tongue  that  is  heard 
and  understood  by  the  wise  men  of 
every  land.  There  is  magic  in  it. 
Listen!" 

Winfried  went  on  to  read  the  let- 
ter, translating  it  into  the  speech  of 
the  people. 

"  'We  have  sent  unto  you  our  Broth- 
er Boniface,  and  appointed  him  your 
bishop,  that  he  may  teach  you  the 
only  true  faith,  and  baptize  you,  and 
lead  you  back  from  the  ways  of  er- 
ror to  the  path  of  salvation.  Hearken 
to  him  in  all  things  like  a  father. 
Bow  your  hearts  to  his  teaching.  He 
comes  not  for  earthly  gain,  but  for 
the  gain  of  your  souls.  Depart  from 
evil  works.  Worship  not  the  false 
gods,  for  they  are  devils.  Offer  no 
more  bloody  sacrifices,  nor  eat  the 
flesh  of  horses,  but  do  as  our  Brother 

60 


THE  FELLING  OF  THE  TREE 

Boniface  commands  you.  Build  a 
house  for  him  that  he  may  dwell 
among  you,  and  a  church  where  you 
may  offer  your  prayers  to  the  only 
living  God,  the  Almighty  King  of 
Heaven.'  " 

It  was  a  splendid  message:  proud, 
strong,  peaceful,  loving.  The  dignity 
of  the  words  imposed  mightily  upon 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  They  were 
quieted,  as  men  who  have  listened  to 
a  lofty  strain  of  rausic. 

"Tell  us,  then,"  said  Gundhar, 
"what  is  the  word  that  thou  bringest 
to  us  from  the  Almighty.  What  is 
thy  counsel  for  the  tribes  of  the 
woodland  on  this  night  of  sacrifice?" 

"This  is  the  word,  and  this  is  the 
counsel,"  answered  Winfried.  "Not 
a  drop  of  blood  shall  fall  to-night, 
save  that  which  pity  has  drawn  from 

61 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

the  breast  of  your  princess,  in  love 
for  her  child.  Not  a  life  shall  be 
blotted  out  in  the  darkness  to-night; 
but  the  great  shadow  of  the  tree 
which  hides  you  from  the  light  of 
heaven  shall  be  swept  away.  For  this 
is  the  birth-night  of  the  white  Christ, 
son  of  the  All-Father,  and  Saviour 
of  mankind.  Fairer  is  He  than  Bal- 
dur  the  Beautiful,  greater  than  Odin 
the  Wise,  kinder  than  Freya  the 
Good.  Since  He  has  come  to  earth 
the  bloody  sacrifices  must  cease.  The 
dark  Thor,  on  whom  you  vainly  call, 
is  dead.  Deep  in  the  shades  of  Niffel- 
heim  he  is  lost  forever.  His  power  in 
the  world  is  broken.  Will  you  serve 
a  helpless  god?  See,  my  brothers,  you 
call  this  tree  his  oak.  Does  he  dwell 
here?  Does  he  protect  it?" 
A  troubled  voice  of  assent  rose  from 


THE  FELLING  OF  THE  TREE 

the  throng.  The  people  stirred  un- 
easily. Women  covered  their  eyes. 
Himrad  lifted  his  head  and  muttered 
hoarsely,  "Thor!  take  vengeance! 
Thor!" 

Winfried  beckoned  to  Gregor. 
"Bring  the  axes,  thine  and  one  for 
me.  Now,  young  woodsman,  show 
thy  craft!  The  king-tree  of  the  for- 
est must  fall,  and  swiftly,  or  all  is 
lost!" 

The  two  men  took  their  places  fac- 
ing each  other,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  oak.  Their  cloaks  were  flung 
aside,  their  heads  bare.  Carefully 
they  felt  the  ground  with  their  feet, 
seeking  a  firm  grip  of  the  earth. 
Firmly  they  grasped  the  axe-helves 
and  swung  the  shining  blades. 

"Tree-god!"   cried  Winfried,   "art 
thou  angry?  Thus  we  smite  thee!" 
63 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

"Tree-god!"  answered  Gregor,  "art 
thou  mighty?  Thus  we  fight  thee!" 

Clang!  clang!  the  alternate  strokes 
beat  tune  upon  the  hard,  ringing 
wood.  The  axe-heads  glittered  in 
their  rhythmic  flight,  like  fierce  ea- 
gles circling  about  their  quarry. 

The  broad  flakes  of  wood  flew  from 
the  deepening  gashes  in  the  sides  of 
the  oak.  The  huge  trunk  quivered. 
There  was  a  shuddering  in  the 
branches.  Then  the  great  wonder  of 
Winfried's  life  came  to  pass. 

Out  of  the  stillness  of  the  winter 
night,  a  mighty  rushing  noise  sound- 
ed overhead. 

Was  it  the  ancient  gods  on  their 
white  battle-steeds,  with  their  black 
hounds  of  wrath  and  their  arrows  of 
lightning,  sweeping  through  the  air 
to  destroy  their  foes? 
64 


THE  FELLING  OF  THE  TREE 

A  strong,  whirling  wind  passed  over 
the  tree-tops.  It  gripped  the  oak  by- 
its  branches  and  tore  it  from  its 
roots.  Backward  it  fell,  like  a  ruined 
tower,  groaning  and  crashing  as  it 
split  asunder  in  four  great  pieces. 

Winfried  let  his  axe  drop,  and 
bowed  his  head  for  a  moment  in  the 
presence  of  almighty  power. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  people,  "Here 
is  the  timber,"  he  cried,  "already 
felled  and  split  for  your  new  build- 
ing. On  this  spot  shall  rise  a  chapel 
to  the  true  God  and  his  servant  St. 
Peter. 

"And  here,"  said  he,  as  his  eyes  fell 
on  a  young  fir-tree,  standing  straight 
and  green,  with  its  top  pointing  tow- 
ards the  stars,  amid  the  divided 
ruins  of  the  fallen  oak,  "here  is  the 
living  tree,  with  no  stain  of  blood 
65 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

upon  it,  that  shall  be  the  sign  of  your 
new  worship.  See  how  it  points  to 
the  sky.  Let  us  call  it  the  tree  of  the 
Christ-child.  Take  it  up  and  carry  it 
to  the  chieftain's  hall.  You  shall  go 
no  more  into  the  shadows  of  the  for- 
est to  keep  your  feasts  with  secret 
rites  of  shame.  You  shall  keep  them 
at  home,  with  laughter  and  song  and 
rites  of  love.  The  thunder-oak  has 
fallen,  and  I  think  the  day  is  coming 
when  there  shall  not  be  a  home  in 
all  Germany  where  the  children  are 
not  gathered  around  the  green  fir- 
tree  to  rejoice  in  the  birth-night  of 
Christ." 

So  they  took  the  little  fir  from  its 
place,  and  carried  it  in  joyous  pro- 
cession to  the  edge  of  the  glade,  and 
laid  it  on  the  sledge.  The  horses  tossed 
their  heads  and  drew  their  load  brave- 

66 


THE  FELLING  OF  THE  TREE 

ly,  as  if  the  new  burden  had  made  it 
lighter. 

When  they  came  to  the  house  of 
Gundhar,  he  bade  them  throw  open 
the  doors  of  the  hall  and  set  the  tree 
in  the  midst  of  it.  They  kindled  lights 
among  the  branches  until  it  seemed 
to  be  tangled  full  of  fire-flies.  The 
children  encircled  it,  wondering,  and 
the  sweet  odour  of  the  balsam  filled 
the  house. 

Then  Winfried  stood  beside  the 
chair  of  Gundhar,  on  the  dais  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  and  told  the  story  of 
Bethlehem;  of  the  babe  in  the  man- 
ger, of  the  shepherds  on  the  hills,  of 
the  host  of  angels  and  their  mid- 
night song.  All  the  people  listened, 
charmed  into  stillness. 

But  the  boy  Bernhard,  on  Irma's 
knee,  folded  by  her  soft  arm,  grew 

67 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE 

restless  as  the  story  lengthened,  and 
began  to  prattle  softly  at  his  mother's 
ear. 

"Mother,"  whispered  the  child, 
"why  did  you  cry  out  so  loud,  when 
the  priest  was  going  to  send  me  to 
Valhalla?" 

"Oh,  hush,  my  child,"  answered  the 
mother,  and  pressed  him  closer  to  her 
side. 

"Mother,"  whispered  the  boy  again, 
laying  his  finger  on  the  stains  upon 
her  breast,  "see,  your  dress  is  red! 
What  are  these  stains?  Did  some  one 
hurt  you?" 

The  mother  closed  his  mouth  with 
a  kiss.  "Dear,  be  still,  and  listen!" 

The   boy   obeyed.    His   eyes   were 

heavy  with  sleep.  But  he  heard  the 

last  words  of  Winfried  as  he  spoke 

of   the    angelic   messengers,    flying 

38 


THE  FELLING  OF    THE  TREE 

over  the  hills  of  Judea  and  singing 
as  they  flew.  The  child  wondered  and 
dreamed  and  listened.  Suddenly  his 
face  grew  bright.  He  put  his  lips 
close  to  Irma's  cheek  again. 

"Oh,  mother!"  he  whispered  very 
low,  "do  not  speak.  Do  you  hear 
them?  Those  angels  have  come  back 
again.  They  are  singing  now  behind 
the  tree." 

And  some  say  that  it  was  true;  but 
others  say  that  it  was  only  Gregor 
and  his  companions  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  hall,  chanting  their  Christmas 
hymn: 

All  glory  be  to  God  on  high, 
And  to  the  earth  be  peace ! 
Good-will,  henceforth,  from  heaven 

to  men 
Begin,  and  never  cease. 


^H'o^ 


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